Always Fall
by gayeffie
Summary: Set in in the Christmas Special. Mary goes out with the shooting party. Though she isn't herself, and realises things she hadn't before. That the good ones always fall. Short one-shot.


_Summary: Mary goes out with the shooting party (set in Christmas Special). Though she isn't herself, and realises things she hadn't before._

_Disclaimer: Yeah, all that jazz. I do hate repeating myself._

_Some readers I know and love could take this as something else, perhaps as a Mary/Lavinia remembrance tribute. I'd like it to be that, but it is still mostly a friendship/angst fic._

_There is a bit of graphic description, so it is T for bloody imaginings. Not sorry. It needs to be said._

_x_

_The good ones always fall._

**Always Fall**

The shots that rang out shattered the peace of the early morning, as men dressed in tweed trudged over the grass, guns slung over their elbows. Mary hadn't given today much thought, coming along on the shoot, but it was expected of her. She was just meant to stand there looking pretty, and perhaps clap every now and then whenever Carlisle looked back at her for encouragement and support, though praise was at the top of that list.

It was sunnier than it should be at the end of the year. Mary was lost in these thoughts. It was sunnier than was right. Lavinia had died not so long ago, and the bright sun shining was as if the world and everyone in it had already forgotten her.

Other men fought their way through the undergrowth, making as much noise as possible, driving the birds and any other unfortunate animals to where the men were waiting, guns at the ready. Mary looked to Matthew, standing silently by, and she admired how he would always shoot wide of the flapping birds, uninterested in this bloody sport of others. The dogs were running after the fallen birds and bringing them back to their masters. There were more men that came for the shoot than Mary had expected, but that was not what caused her to grow still, silent and thoughtful. Many of these men, practically all of them, thought of this as fun, as a sport. Though they were all terrible shots, and many of the animals had only been wounded and left to die slowly.

Mary cast a glance around the clearing in the wood. Some birds had their wings half shot off; some had been shot through the chest. Mary watched helplessly as one rabbit who lay on the ground jerked about feebly, its hopeless kicks weakening. Mary then had to hold back a gasp and press her hand over her mouth at the sickening feeling one sight had caused. One pheasant was missing its head, blown away by a shotgun, though the body was still twitching on the ground. The gruesome sight caused a wave of nausea and Mary turned away, closing her eyes in an effort to keep her composure.

Strangely enough, this thoughtless killing reminded her of her late friend. Lavinia, who had left this life too soon, too swiftly, had been shot down as brutally as the creatures here that died for nothing but the sport of others. She had died winged and wounded by Mary's betrayal, and Matthew's compliance. Lavinia witnessing their embrace had hurt her, and _it is no one's fault_, Mary thought, _but my own._ Mary looked up, in time to see with barely veiled horror, as a female pheasant was jerked out of the sky from a shotgun blast, her left wing half shot to pieces, and promptly after, a second blast caught her in the caramel-coloured feathers of her chest, and she fell, crashing into the trees and half-flying, half-falling through them to the other side.

Mary hardly knew what she was about, but she found herself following the pained cries of the poor creature, to where it flapped on the ground, its feathered breast sodden and spotted with blood, short screeches leaving it as Mary walked into the small glen, the trees were both surrounding and imprisoning, hiding this moment from the world, though the world looked away. Mary reached out to the pheasant, her fingers shaking in fear and uncertainty, but withdrew her gloved hand at the bird's eyes that were wide with terror, her struggles slowing as blood trickled from her open beak, and harsh, rasping pants sounding from her. The tongue was red, stained with blood, and there were no more harsh squawks or cries. Mary couldn't force herself to look away from the animal; she had initially expected it to die almost instantly after being shot, though her experience today had put her mind right, and the bird's suffering was continuing, far longer than any creature deserved.

Mary still gazed at it, thinking of Lavinia again, and of what a kind, good person she was. She had never hurt anyone with or without intent and her needless death was deserved by many others who were still alive and well. That sweet girl deserved to be remembered, and Mary knew she would always think of her, affectionately and mournfully. When Mary remembered where she was, sitting in the cool grass outside, she half reached out before she noticed the bird had died, it now lay silent and still. Mary's fingers clutched at thin air, this commonplace death had disturbed her, and she heard nothing, the shotgun blasts became almost muted to her ears, and she sat for a while there, not speaking, only thinking, not even wondering how long it had been since she left the group.

No one noticed her absence.

_end_

_Thank you for reading, since you got this far. I don't really know what to make of this, I've been down and to be honest, disturbed and upset lately, and I guess this was a manifestation of that state of mind._

_I'd like a review, I really would. Thank you for reviewing (if you do)._

_x kissthespider26_


End file.
